If Sex Was A Spoon
by Cyri's Alter Ego
Summary: In which Morty gets drunk and Falkner wishes he would stop being so interested in his neck. If only he wasn't so awkward. Honourshipping.


_So I finally got around to playing Pokémon Black and Black 2 and now I just love Pokémon all over again. And I love Falkner and Morty - they're probably my favourite two gym leaders - and this started inventing itself in the middle of a lesson a while ago. I suppose this can also be a commemoration of the fact that the government finally legalised gay marriage in Britain a couple of days ago._

_Honourshippy, obviously. If you don't like it please shoo. A bit of swearing also happens. If you don't like that then also shoo. OOCness due to alcohol. If you don't like anything else, leave me a review. Or if you do like it, leave me a review. Either way, review please?_

_Don't own Pokémon._

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**If Sex Was A Spoon**

* * *

"There's a reason I'm supposed to be here. I know it."

Falkner tipped his head to the skies and flinched as cold night air slapped him in the face. He tugged irritably at his sleeve without looking down, choosing not to notice the way Morty was beginning to overstep the boundaries of personal space.

"I mean," Falkner went on, "there's no way some _idiot_ could have _possibly _talked me into going out to Goldenrod on a Saturday night when I could have been training or doing something else useful; oh, of course not..."

The aforementioned idiot grinned and clung onto Falkner's arm. He was pleasantly tipsy - well, that's how he would have described it had he been asked. To Falkner, there was nothing pleasant about this at all. He'd only just got Morty out of the bar.

"I missed ya, Bird," Morty slurred happily, rubbing up to Falkner's shoulder like a Skitty. An overly affectionate, drunk Skitty. "You... you never come to see me."

There was some accusation in his voice. Despite his unspoken resolution not to answer a single word Morty said, it stung Falkner's pride too much not to argue. "We're gym leaders, Morty. You know how it is."

"Well, how is it?"

"Busy." Falkner gave a grunt and turned his head away from Morty's (which was tricky since it had inched up to lie on his shoulder), fully ignoring how huge and hurt his eyes were. There was no way they were that size when he was sober. Alcohol was ridiculous.

On the topic of alcohol, Falkner had been wondering for a while now whether it was possible for Pokémon to get as intoxicated as people. He hadn't seen Pidgeot drink a thing, but both he and Morty's Gengar had vanished not so long ago, and if the noises coming from behind a group of nearby bins were any sort of giveaway, they were either having vigorous sex or dismembering a gang of Rattata.

Classy.

What this meant, though, was that their lift home was pretty much not going to happen - at least until Pidgeot and Gengar were done. Falkner was hardly going to leave without dropping this wreck of a gym leader back in Ecruteak, and Pidgeot was the only one of his Pokémon large enough to carry them both. Personally, Falkner didn't want to invite the ensuing awkwardness that would doubtlessly come of walking in on Pokémon sex, particularly on purpose, so for the time being, they were stranded.

Morty chose this moment to emphasise the horror of the situation by biting Falkner's ear and giggling.

Falkner stifled a long sigh.

"Hey, Bird. Hey, Bird. Heeeey, Bird."

It was only the lips on his neck that made him jerk around. No, this could still get worse. "What?"

Morty grinned. Haphazard was the word - he looked like he could topple over with the slightest touch. Falkner wondered how he had apparently become more drunk in the short time since they'd left the bar. "Love you," Morty murmured.

"Sure, whatever, love you too." Falkner shook his head and looked away; this was a mistake, as he quickly found out when Morty took advantage of his neck, sucking hard on it. Falkner flinched, pulse notching up fast, and shoved him away.

Morty staggered and almost fell to his knees while Falkner attempted to compose himself. He rubbed at the wet spot - there'd be a mark there now, he could tell. That was going to be fun to explain to all those ten-year-olds who came to challenge him.

Meanwhile, Morty had found his unsteady feet again, and was looking at Falkner with an expression easily comparable with a kicked Lillipup's. "Falkner?"

Falkner resisted the urge to roll his eyes, thoroughly glad his heart had slowed the hell down. He really should have seen this coming. He'd had it on good authority from Blue (host of last year's New Year's party), Volkner (whose birthday it had been the month before), Brawly (general party-hoster extraordinaire), and several other victims (including Euisine, Gold, and Professor Elm).

The fact simply was that Morty, while straight as a ruler when he was sober, had a tendency while drunk to develop a rather more homoerotic side.

As Morty lurched towards him, Falkner quickly said; "No. Bad." It felt a bit like chastising a naughty Pokémon. "Maybe you should sit down," he said, which felt gentler.

His consideration was wasted on Morty, though. "Maybe," Morty said, batting his eyelashes in a way he clearly imagined was devastatingly seductive, "you should come here before I go hyper beam on your ass."

Falkner dearly wished he had missed the euphemism in that.

He was probably doing it on purpose, though. Hair tousled. Stumbling around. Acting off his head, headband lopsided, because he got some sort of perverted kick out of seeing Falkner get more uncomfortable by the moment.

"Falk-_ner_..."

Pointedly, Falkner turned his back. He wished he had earplugs so that he could block out the sound of Morty's voice and Pidgeot's moans, and instead just watch the city sky. Will himself out of this dingy Goldenrod alley.

It was no use, though. Morty's chatter filtered through his imaginary veil of silence, and worse, Falkner couldn't help but give silent replies. Silent replies which were, alarmingly, in a similar state of drunkenness.

"C'mere, Bird. Please, please, Bird... please... You know I love you, right?"

_Well, I love you more. Like, more than an apple likes trees. More than vans like potatoes. More than you're stupid. And that's a lot._

"Lots. Lots and lots. Like... if this was the world... and then... sex... was a spoon... then I'd be a fork. If you know what I mean."

_I know that I want your cutlery... If _you_ know what _I_ mean._

"Ple-e-ease, Bird! I promise promise promise I won't try sexytimes on you."

_But I want it!_

"Well... maybe just a little bit."

_Slightly little bit better._

"I want spoons."

_I want spoons more._

"I want to _spoooon_ you. I want to spoon you, Bird. With my fork."

"Shut up," Falkner growled abruptly, surprising both Morty and his imaginary drunk doppelgänger. He'd stopped concentrating on the sky a while ago, if he was honest.

Morty stuck out his bottom lip and widened his eyes to ridiculously huge proportions. There was utterly no way a gym leader over the age of twenty should be attempting a look of such inherent adorableness. "But... but Bird, don't you want spoons?"

He had sidled up again without Falkner noticing. Falkner leaned back before Morty tried to give him another lovebite.

"No, thank you."

"Please?" Morty tiptoed up, brushed Falkner's hair out of the way, and nipped him on the ear, tugging at it with his teeth. "I'll pay you?"

Falkner winced. The level of uncomfortableness had reached such a pitch that his neck was flushed red, and it was only due to the grudging platonic love that he had for Morty that he was still here at all. "That's illegal," he said. "Stop it!" he added sharply, ears scarlet to match as Morty started to remove his jacket.

Morty blinked and pouted. "Spoons?"

"No. No spoons- I no spoon- I mean-" Falkner took a deep breath, tried to calm down, and wished fervently that Pidgeot and Gengar would shut up. "I am not having sex with you!"

"But _why_?" Morty whined. "I'm hot. And so are you. Girls would love it. We could take pictures. I bet Jasmine would say yes after that."

"I don't care about enhancing your sexual profile." Good, that had sounded coherent. Falkner had honestly started to question whether he objected to this as much as he was saying he did.

"But I bet Janine would sleep with you too. We could have a four-way. That would be sexy."

"No, it fucking wouldn't." Falkner cringed as he heard himself curse. Where had that come from? Christ, he couldn't remember the last time he'd worked himself up to the point he'd started swearing. He was _Falkner_, for crying out loud.

Except that Morty was so persistent and so drunk. And so annoying. And so insistent on making a total idiot of himself. And Falkner had to cope with it.

Morty's eyebrows went up for a second. Then he smirked and licked Falkner's cheek. The cold air took away the heat at once and Falkner shivered.

"Hot," Morty purred- no, no, _wrong_, Morty should _not_ purr. _Ever_.

"When you're sober," Falkner said, hoping he sounded stern, "I'm going to tell you that you were hitting on me."

"Good." They were up by the wall now, and Falkner realised too late that he was trapped. "You can tell me when you're lying naked in my bed."

Okay, too close. Kissing along his jawline was definitely too close. Falkner would have liked to know what sort of fangirling Whitney would have done if she could have seen this. "I'll pass," he said, but somehow his voice didn't come out loudly enough. Or something.

Either way, Morty didn't get the message. Instead, he tripped, and the two of them suddenly went crashing to the ground. There was a painful _crack_ as Falkner's shoulder scraped the wall and his head hit the pavement. He yelped, Morty's teeth went into his chin, and altogether the whole charade was the least sexy thing Falkner had ever experienced.

But now Morty was on Falkner's chest and Falkner didn't seem to mind very much.

...He was definitely concussed.

There was a pause.

"How many people have you kissed?"

It was a moment before Falkner realised he was the one who had asked the question. This surprised him as much as it surprised anyone else - and far less than it seemed to surprise Morty, who smiled lazily back, toying with a lock of Falkner's hair and showing no sign that he was planning on moving.

"Fifty seven and two," he answered.

Falkner blinked. "...Fifty nine?"

"No. Eighteen."

"Really?"

"I don't know."

This wasn't an adequate answer at all, but Falkner didn't even try a mediocre 'oh'.

"What about you, Bird?" Morty asked.

Falkner wished he would fix his hair. It was completely out of place. "Three."

"Three? You're worth more than that. Who?"

"Janine, Cynthia, and Pryce - uh, but that was an accident."

There was a heavy silence.

"Are you going to get off me?" Falkner asked quietly.

"No."

"...Okay."

The kiss, when it finally happened, was quick and a little bit rough. Falkner couldn't say he didn't feel Morty's teeth once or twice, and he couldn't say he didn't peek, just a bit, just long enough to inhale the mothball-sweet smell of Morty.

He was absolutely regretting it, of course, even as he kissed him. Falkner was heartily convinced that this never would have happened if he hadn't hit his head. He was delusional, and Morty was drunk, which was why this was happening. Definitely why.

He hoped it would be over soon. Pidgeot and Gengar would conclude their activities, he'd take Morty home, and then return back to Violet City. Everything would be fine. Everything would be normal. This crazy little incident would never have to be mentioned again. Falkner didn't do crazy little incidents. It just didn't happen.

But then Morty drew back. He gave Falkner a straight look. "Falkner," he said, in his slowest, clearest drawl, "You do know I didn't drink anything, right?"

Falkner stared.

...Actually, fuck everything he'd just said.


End file.
